David Harbaugh: The First Love Of My Life

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

Born in Toledo, Ohio, one of the most energetic and smartest coaches to ever step onto a sideline, this man is Jim Harbaugh. Son of Jack Harbaugh who spent a majority of Johns childhood coaching at the University of Michigan before moving out to California for a different job. Growing up around the team Jim had the opportunity to get close with the coach, a man named Bo Schembechler. Already having a relationship it really was no surprise when Bo started recruiting one of the top high school arms in the country in Jim's final year of high school to come and play quarterback for the University of Michigan. Of course Jim accepted the scholarship offer and packed his bags to move back to Michigan.

When I was around 8 years old my mom got pregnant with a baby boy, and it excited everyone, especially me. Almost 5 months into her pregnancy my parents began to argue a lot, and my mom thought my dad cheated. She decided to have an abortion without letting anyone in our family know. She just pretended she lost the baby, until several months later when the truth eventually came out. My mom’s decision affected our whole family leaving everyone with unanswered questions, hurt, and heartache. Even my mom too this day experiences challenges living with the fact that she took another life, which led to many months of depression, hurt, and

One night as I searched for my mother, my dad told me she was not feeling like herself. My dad told me to let her rest that night and I could talk to her the following morning. As I started to wake up the next morning my father was sitting at the foot of my bed and informed me I’d be spending the day with my Aunt Michelle because my mother had a doctor’s appointment. I could not wrap my head around why I would not be attending this appointment but had attended all the others. Later that evening once again both my parents came into my room but this time without smiles. With a shaky voice my mom began to tell me she had been diagnosed with Preeclampsia and her illness was progressing quickly. Now with tears running down her face she continued

Five days had passed this time since anyone had heard from my mother. I remember praying to God to protect her from harm and for me to find her. The next day she showed up, but not in the way we had hoped. One morning as I was getting ready for school my sophomore year in high school, my phone rang to the voice of my stepfather. My stepfather had told me he heard a call come over the dispatch scanner at his work and my mother’s name was mentioned. The sheriff had informed my stepfather that my mother had been involved in an accident. My stepfather asked me to go to the emergency room and see what condition my mother was in because he lived a half hour away from the hospital. When I arrived at the hospital I found my mother cut out of her clothes, covered in her own urine, massive amounts of blood all over her body, and lying lifeless on life support on the table. At this point, no one knew whether my mother would be okay. My mother had bleeding on the brain as well as a tear in her shoulder, a shattered face, and a chest tube draining fluid from her lung which had collapsed. All I could do was pray! My mother’s life was in God’s hands now. Three days later she woke

Our mom Julia had overdosed and the EMTs did everything they could but she was pronounced dead hours ago with J right beside her. Julia wasn't my biological mother but she had raised me alongside J my entire life. My dad had been with her for a while back when I was younger and she even used to say that he was like the Kurt Cobain to her Courtney Love, he hadn't died or anything but after getting too comfortable he ran off and dumped me onto Julia like some hand me down.

Unexpectedly, my father called and with an unsteady voice explained, “I had to take your mother to the emergency room, and she is now being admitted to the hospital.” At age 13, this phone call began the most dreadful time of my life. Prior to this event, I was exceedingly dependent on my parents and even struggled with separating from them. In the beginning of my mother’s hospital stay, my familymy parents and two, younger sisters were constantly divided. My father stayed in the hospital with my mother, while my sisters and I would switch between caring family members and friends. Eventually I grew tired of different environments and decided that staying home alone was the far better option. As a result, I appreciate independence and know how to solely maintain a home.

I attended Squareville high school, along with about one hundred other kids. Squareville was small, population of about six hundred. I, being one of the six hundred, didn’t mean much to Squareville and I was well aware of it. I live with my mom, Joann, and my sister, Hannah; My dad passed away about a year ago. Our, now, three person, family isn’t nearly the same. We used to laugh and smile at breakfast, we used to tell jokes at dinner, and wish we could all be together during lunch but obligations made it infeasible. My dad refused to ever show he was in pain so the day my dad was diagnosed with cancer was shocking, then two weeks later he passed. The cancer was terminal and the doctors had caught it way too late. After he passed things

On January 5, 2009 my father pasted away. He and I did not have the typical father-son relationship; we did not have a relationship at all. I presumed that it would have a little if any affect on me. However, as the semester continued, it seemed to get worse. Besides my father’s passing, several weeks later my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. It was difficult for me to deal with, but it was more difficult for my mother to handle.

My mother got a surgery 2 years ago. It was a pretty difficult time, but she really needed it. Everything would always bring consequences, and the fights that my parents had everyday was one of them. They would fight for everything, it didn't matter how small the problem was, my parents would always complain to each other. My parents didn't solve their problems and, consequently, my mother fell under depression. She had to go to the psychologist so she could get out of depression someway. at the beginning I just couldn't cope with all this pressure, so I had to just ignore it. This day I got tired and I decided to talk to my father about what was happening. He calm down, and help my mother get through her depression. My mother told me not give

It all started with the screaming and fighting of my dad and stepmom. I hadn’t ever met my mom I was token away at birth and was deprived of the visits of my birth mom. My dog had always stayed by my side. Her name is Tukie. Tukie was 10 years old. My dad got him as a puppy for his special needs. My dad would have a stroke every month, to then go paralyzed for the rest of that week. Due to this I had missed lots of school and had unacceptable grades. My sister who had died after college, to be exact a month after the graduation, had finished college on the honor role. By the age 5 I had gone blind in my left eye. The recover was a flop. I had lost my vision in my left eye forever. The first day in the hospital Tukie came to visit he had

She offered to take us to Stanford Hospital and wait for my mom’s surgery to finish. When we arrived at the hospital the concierge told us her surgery would take two to four more hours. I kept praying while waiting for the surgery to finish. Hours later the Doctor came out with the news, he stated “Froda lost a massive amount of blood, she will need a lot of rest, but she is in a stable condition”. Hearing those words gave me a bit of relief, but I was still emotionally devastated. Days later she woke up. Her face was pale as a ghost and had tubes going around her body. I was in shock and times couldn’t take the pain. I kept asking: “Mom do you know who I am?”. She would nod her head slowly.When she spoke, every word that came out was mumbly. I nor can anyone understand her, but I was happy that she was

Growing up in a small rural town in Douglas, Georgia one would think I would have a pretty ordinary, “Mayberry” upbringing, but this is far from true. My life started out simple; my mother and father were married and doing the best they could to raise my siblings and I. Marrying young, however, did present some marital challenges that soon caused the two of them to drift apart. The loving start soon turned into arguments and tussles, which then lead to affairs and separation. During their separation, my mother was shot and killed by her adulterer and my father never fully recovered. I was only 3 years old at the time. Turning to alcohol and later drugs, my father was no longer able to care for my sisters and me, so we were split up. Like most small towns, everyone knows everyone – most knew our tragic beginning and quite naturally predicted our ghastly ending.

It all started out on July-23-2014, when my mother told me she and my father were getting a divorce, and that we were moving from Owatonna, Minnesota to San Diego. I remember that day like it was yesterday, how I felt, how I felt like I would never stop crying, and confused about what was going to happen. I remember hearing what my mother 's voice sounded like I knew something bad happened, that my father got in an accident or died, or that my dog had gotten hit by a car, or someone died. But all my assumptions were incorrect no one died no one got hurt besides me , my mother , and father. I remember as soon as my mother said the word Divorce, I instantly started bursting into tears.

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping